Waiting For The Hammer to Fall
by theatrebug
Summary: This is my first fic! This A.U. story follows a miserable, disaffected teen on her journey of rebellion and non-conformity against the Globalsoft corporation in the futuristic world of Planet Mall. I will continue writing unless otherwise stated. Reviews appreciated! Rated T for bad language and some mild violence.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Carrie was a freak.

Maybe it was all the schools she had been kicked out of, maybe it was all the names she'd been called, maybe it was just because deep down, she didn't _want_ to be happy in this world, but she had always found herself exiled to the outskirts of society. Hating life, hating other people, and most of all hating herself.  
The only thing that kept her going was the hope that one day she would find somebody, anybody, that shared her hatred for conformity. This hope fuelled her, burned like an angry fire in her core. It was what caused her to act out, to shout, to scream, to throw aside all expectation and be different from everyone else. It had gotten her kicked out of more than one GaGa school, but she didn't really care. What did it matter to her which school she went to? It was all the same anyway. The same lessons, the same food, even the people seemed to be exactly the same wherever she went. She was simply being passed like a disease from one high school to another, until they had had enough of her and sent her packing to the next place.  
Even her family had refused to accept her as one of their own. Since she was small, she had been tossed around from aunt to uncle, cousin to grandparent, staying only as long as they could tolerate her, then being shipped off to the next home.  
An outsider. That's all she was. She was trying to swim against a strong current, a current that beat her back and pushed her down until she was near drowning, but still she fought it. She refused to be like them.  
Globalsoft would not win against her.

Globalsoft would not win.


	2. Chapter 1 - Misery

It was yet another new start. Carrie's Aunt Kate and Uncle Ken had already had enough of her after a month and had sent her packing back to her parents, much to their dismay. This meant another new school and a fresh set of tormentors and bullies to take the piss and scorn her for her dark clothes and funny-coloured hair.  
She hadn't even reached the gates yet, and already Carrie could hear people talking about her in hushed tones as she walked by. The familiar words drifted to her ears:  
'Check out the weirdo, girlies!'  
'Who on Planet Mall is that?'  
'What does she think she's wearing?'  
 _Nothing new there,_ she reflected.  
She kept her head down and walked on, up the steps and into the school courtyard, on a mission to find a place where she could hide herself away until classes started and avoid the GaGa kids. Well, there was no avoiding them. GaGa was everywhere. But at least she could put off the bullying for a bit.  
As she marched grimly on, trembling inwardly, she tried to instil herself with some degree of confidence. She tried remembering the look of horror on her family's face when she had emerged from the bathroom at age thirteen, her hair a deep, rebellious shade of violet she had concocted herself from an anti-fungal remedy she had found in the school nurse's station. It was her first true act of defiance, the first time that her sullenness and refusal to conform had yielded an action which set her apart indefinitely from the other kids. Her first mark of rebellion. From there it had continued, her distinct lack of GaGa-ness growing until she was what she was now: A disaffected teenage loner swathed in huge, black clothes, seeking a place to hide from her inevitable, unending torment.  
The memory of the hair-dying incident caused her to feel slightly better. More sure of herself. She lifted her chin and looked around her, stopping to pull her old, dirty tablet phone out of her bag, the screen cracked where she had thrown it during a particularly heated argument with her parents, and checked the time. Ten minutes until classes. _Ten minutes until hell,_ she thought.  
She drifted like a spirit through the crowd, looking more than just out-of-place among the crowd of white-clad GaGa kids, but more like she was from another planet. She came to a stop and plonked herself down on an empty bench in a less crowded region of the yard. As coolly as possible, she began scrolling through her emails, thinking: _If I can just avoid eye contact, if I can just lay low this time, maybe they'll leave me alone …_  
'Ex-cuuuse me,' said a sharp, nasally voice. Carrie kept on scrolling. The voice persisted. 'I said, ex-cuuuuuuuse me,' Carrie looked up. A tall, pink-haired girl with a tight belly top bearing the GaGa logo stood before her, grinning a glisteningly white grin and standing with one pristinely-manicured hand on her hip. 'I don't think I've seen you here before,' she said, cocking her head to one side.  
'I think we'd _know_ if we'd seen _her_ before,' sneered another voice, almost identical. It came from another perfectly turned-out GaGa creature, this one with green hair and a clear plastic skirt with little white pants underneath. Carrie wondered how these girls failed to see how fucking stupid they looked when they admired themselves in the mirror. She kept on scrolling.  
'Well, aren't you gonna tell us your name, then?' continued the first girl. This answered with stifled giggles from some other nearby GaGa clones. Clearly, they weren't going to give up.  
'Carrie.' She said plainly, staring up at the perfectly made-up face, her face a mask. _Just don't let them in,_ she thought, _just keep your shit together and don't let them get to you.  
'_So that's at what dot com?' the girl pressed, asking for her last name. Carrie was beginning to lose her temper.  
'No. Not at anything dot com, just _Carrie_ ' she shot back, returning her gaze to her tablet. _Keep cool. Keep cool, Carrie, just keep cool.  
_ 'Well paaaardon me, I was only asking,' answered the girl pertly, looking around at her cronies for support. They all began to snicker. 'And what gives you the right to come in here and talk to us all like that then, eh?' she demanded, her grin becoming more openly spiteful. Carrie focussed on her tablet. 'Ex-cuuuuse me, but I'm talking to you,' she pressed. Carrie focussed harder. 'I said ex-cuuuuuuse me-'  
'I heard you perfectly well,' Carrie snapped back, 'and I can talk to you however I like.'  
'Ooooh, the little freak has an attitude!' said green hair. The other wenches cackled openly now. Carrie was beginning to turn pink.  
'I think she needs to be taught some manners' called out one with cropped, pastel-blue hair, stepping forward to join pink-hair in her attack. They grinned their extremely white grins at each other. Pink hair clicked her fingers, signalling at the tablet cradled in Carrie's hands.

'Oi!' shrieked Carrie, as the tablet was wrenched from her hands and held up high by blue hair. 'Give it back, give it the fuck back right now!' Carrie sprang to her feet, lurching at the girl who now held the device triumphantly high.  
'Ooooh, not so tough now, are we Scary Carrie?' she bleated, waving it around until it was dangerously close to toppling from her delicate hand to the hard concrete.  
'Ha! Scary Carrie! Oh, that's a good one ain't it?' snorted pink hair. The other girls were now laughing raucously, like a flock of shrill exotic birds. Carrie was left lunging ignominiously after her tablet, which was being passed from girl to girl like a pass-the-parcel. The chorus of cackles surrounded her like a wall, beginning to grate on her nerves. The uproar grew louder. Finally Carrie's last barriers of composure came crashing down.

Carrie had had enough.

Without thinking, she grabbed a good fistful of the pink bitch's perfectly straight hair, wrenching her head down and grabbing at the tablet that was clenched in her fragile hand. The girl howled like a banshee and loosened her grip on the device, sending it crashing down to earth. Carrie didn't stop. She pulled harder.  
Over went pink hair, tumbling in a screaming pile onto the concrete of the courtyard, the other girls looking on open-mouthed in a perfect picture of horror. None of them came forward to help their leader.  
'Is it still funny? Is it still fucking funny to you bitch?' Carrie screamed, throwing the girl onto her back. She tried in vain to wriggle away, but Carrie held fast onto her pink tresses. Pinky screamed again and flailed, hitting Carrie weakly in the abdomen. People were beginning to stare. One clone began calling for help into his phone. Still the friends did nothing but gape. 'Ex- _cuuuuuuse_ me, I said _is it still fucking funny?'_ Carrie roared. 'Scary Carrie, huh? You want scary, I'll give you fucking scary!' she shouted, her face close to her victim's, her face flushed with fury. Teachers began swarming out of the building like ants, converging on the brawl and surrounding the group of teenagers completely.  
The two screaming girls were ripped apart by four large, sturdy GaGa professors, Carrie holding her iron grip on the candy-coloured mop until the bitter end. In fact, she still held a fair-sized tuft of rosy strands in her fist when she was borne away, struggling and resisting, into a GaGa police van, and driven from the scene in disgrace.

And then the school bell rang.


	3. Chapter 2 - Caught

2  
Carrie awoke in darkness. A sweet, pungent smell filled her nostrils, making her head spin and her heart race. _Oh, Carrie, you've really done it this time_. She moaned. _Oh, you dumb bitch, what have you done?_  
She attempted to sit up, and realised that she already was. So why did her body feel so relaxed? Why couldn't she move her … _Oh fuck._ They'd drugged her. She vaguely remembered the ride in the GaGa police-mobile. She'd kicked and screamed, dented the metal bench they had shoved her onto with the heel of her boot, shrieked and wailed like a deranged beast until she'd heard an odd hissing noise and the smelled same sweet smell that surrounded her now, sedating her. Soothing her against her will. Carrie did not want to be soothed. She was past that.  
She felt like crying. _I can't cry,_ she thought _, if I cry, they win. Suck it up. SUCK IT UP._ But it was no use. The hot, prickling sensation behind her eyes and nose grew, and soon a few fat tears plopped onto her pale cheeks. _What have I done?_ She asked herself again. This was the first time she'd flown this far off the handle. Normally she shouted, maybe pushed the bitch or threw a single punch. That was normally as far as she went. But this time? This time she'd really screwed it up. She'd assaulted a GaGa girl, dragged her down, pulled out her perfect hair. This time it was criminal. She moaned again and more tears escaped her groggy eyes. The salty droplets ran down over her mouth and she licked her lips to get rid of them. _Come on, Carrie. Come on. You've come this far. Fight.  
_ She began to struggle against the sleepy feeling that spread itself through her body, pinning down her arms and legs with their own weight. _Come on._ She struggled harder. Her arm moved slightly. It was a start. Gradually, she began to regain control of herself, her tears drying and her resolve to escape hardening. She couldn't see beyond the bench she rested on, but she peered out nonetheless, trying to get her bearings and figure out where the hell she actually was. Finally sliding from the bench to the floor, she reasoned that she must be somewhere within the bowels of the Globalsoft headquarters, maybe in some kind of prison? It didn't look like a prison. Hell, it didn't look like anything. She couldn't see. Carrie took a tentative step forward. And another. She stretched her skinny arms out in front of her in the darkness. Suddenly-  
'And where do you think you're going young lady?' a voice boomed. Bright lights flashed on and Carrie was temporarily blinded by the brightness.  
'What the fuck?' was her response.  
'Language, Carrie,' the voice chided. It was a deep voice, a man's, and a very posh man's at that. He rolled the 'r' in her name and spoke in a slight drawl, like he was bored from saying the same thing time and time again. Maybe he was.  
Carrie glanced about her, taking in the room. She was indeed in some sort of cell, that was clear now. A few more steps and she would have bumped right into a hard, shiny white wall. As far as she could see, there was no door. She began to panic.  
'Where the fuck am I?' she demanded in a growl. She couldn't show her fear.  
'Again, language!' He sighed. She could almost hear him shaking his head. 'Your type. What are we going to do with you?' he sneered. Carrie bristled and readied herself to fight.  
'Where am I?' she asked again, more quietly.  
'Where do you think you are?'  
'Hell.'  
He chuckled.  
'You're not far off I suppose. Listen to me now, if you're a good girl, and you say sorry and behave, we might let you go again. But you must understand, Carrie, this means you will be required to dress correctly and not cause any more trouble. You need to clean up your act, young lady, or we'll have no choice but to try alternative means of making you comply.'  
'Such as?' she demanded. He didn't reply. Just chuckled gently over the speakers. 'I said, such as?'  
'My, my, Carrie, you are a bolshie little one aren't you? Always giving your parents and grandparents trouble. Dearie me, we will have to work on that attitude if you're to be let go.'  
'You … y-you fucking spies! What I do is none of your business.'  
'Carrie, Carrie, Carrie,' the voice said gently. The over-familiarity made her feel sick. 'We're giving you another chance here, just one. Now, if you want us to let you go, you're going to have to apologise.'  
'Apologise?' Carrie was incredulous. 'You want me to _apologise_?'  
'You've got it'  
'You're joking, right? You have to be joking.'  
'Carrie my dear, if I were joking, you'd know about it.'  
'I am _not_ your "dear"' she snarled back, the resentment inside her growing and growing until she felt she couldn't bear it.  
'Say, "Sorry for my behaviour". Go on, Carrie, it's easy. It won't cost you anything. And we'll let you go, as long as you're a good little girl.' _A good little girl_. She turned the phrase over in her mind. She felt like puking.  
'And if I'm not?'  
'Like I said, we have alternative means of making you see things our way.'  
'And I said: Such as?'  
'Say sorry.' he pressed. Carrie paused. If she could get out of here somehow, if she could just escape from this prison, then maybe she could run. Away from all this GaGa bullshit, away from her parents and the mindless conformity of the GaGa kids, away from Globalsoft itself. Maybe …  
She paused. Took a breath. Spoke.  
'I'm sorry.' The words tasted foreign and bitter in her mouth.  
'For?' The voice pushed. She gritted her teeth and shut her eyes.  
'My bad behaviour.' Her voice wobbled slightly.  
'And are you going to be good?'  
'Yes.'  
'Are you going to wear the right clothes, and dye your hair an appropriate colour?'  
'Yes.'  
'Good girl, Carrie, well done.' She felt physically ill. 'I'll have an acceptable outfit sent over to your flat at once, along with a nice bottle of pink dye. I think you'll find the GaGa way rather enjoyable, really. Nothing to think about. Nothing to worry your little head over. You can just relax and let yourself go.' Carrie felt like crying again, just from the sheer ignominy of having to apologise for being who she was. Again, she tried to bite back the tears. Again, she couldn't.  
'There, there, my dear, don't cry. You'll see. Now, just relax, we'll take care of you.'  
She heard the familiar hissing noise and smelled the same sweet, sedating scent as before.  
'No, no please! Not again,' she begged through her sobs. It was no use. Another five seconds and she had lost consciousness, crumpling into a pile of black fabric on the cold floor.

Khashoggi chuckled again, turning off the lights in the teenage rebel's cell and sending for the orderly to take her away. It was almost too easy to be fun. Almost.  
'Khashoggi to Killer Queen,' he sang. A few silent moments elapsed before the wall lit up with an image of his boss. Her voice was hard, demanding.  
'Well?'  
'Good news, madam, we've caught another one.'  
'Another what?' She asked, looking at her nails in boredom.  
'Another potential Bohemian, madam. She is being fitted with a micro-transceiver as we speak, then she is to be released and tracked. I have a good feeling about this one, she has more … spark than the others, more spirit,' he said excitedly. 'Who knows madam; maybe she will be the one to lead us to the Bohemian stronghold. She's certain to run, there's no doubt about that.'  
'Run! Ha!' Killer Queen laughed, a deep, rich laughter that came from her belly. 'Run where? There's nowhere to run! Globalsoft has eyes everywhere.'  
'True madam, but these … these rebels madam, they seem to think that their lack of conformity makes them special, invincible even. It makes it all the easier for us madam, makes them less careful.'  
'Oh, Khashoggi, you really are wonderful!' She broke off into another belly-laugh, her fat cheeks wobbling and her large beehive tottering, threatening to topple right off of her head. She stopped abruptly, remembering something. 'Khashoggi?'  
'Yes, madam?' he answered obediently.  
'The dreamer,' she growled, 'have you found him? Are we any closer?'  
'Not yet, madam, but worry not. I've always had a talent for spotting potential-'  
'And crushing it.' She grinned, her white teeth shining out of her face.  
'Indeed madam. Rest assured, we shall find him, and we shall annihilate him before he has the chance to cause us any trouble.'  
'And then …' she broke into another grin, 'and then …'  
'Yes, madam.' Khashoggi smiled crookedly back. Killer Queen laughed her deafening laugh again, and disappeared. Khashoggi was left in silence.  
He was still grinning.


	4. Chapter 3 - The Escape

p class="MsoNormal"3br / Carrie awoke with a dull headache. She was laid on her own bed in her parents' flat, in the little back bedroom they had exiled her to. She sat up, rubbing her forehead and looking around. As promised, there was a GaGa uniform and two bottles laid out on her desk in the corner. She got up to investigate and found that one was a bottle of dye remover, the other was a pastel pink dye, not unsimilar from the colour hair of the girl she had brawled with. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. Setting down the bottles, she turned her gaze onto the white, spandex outfit that was laid neatly over the chair. She picked it up. It was two pieces, a tight white belly top bearing the GaGa logo and an obscenely short little skirt - the exact same outfit as the girl whose ass she had kicked. She hurled it across the room. emThose sick bastards. This is their idea of a joke./em The anger grew once again inside her. She went and scooped up the skimpy garments, scrunching them into a tight little ball and hucking them out of the open window. She watched as they fluttered through the stale air, travelling a short distance into the branches of the perfectly-manicured tree just outside. The bottles followed. One, two, out the window and through the air. / /emShe felt better after purging her space of GaGa gear. But now she had to think hard. It wasn't going to be easy running away, what with her parents on high alert after their daughter's arrest. emOh, shit. /emHer parents. How was she ever going to get past them now? Carrie thought hard again, and for a second regretted impulsively throwing the clothes away. They could have proved useful in deceiving her parents into letting her go out. She discarded the thought immediately; even thinking of donning GaGa attire made her skin crawl. Plus, she hated the way she looked, and could think of nothing worse than stretching the clingy fabric over her body, having it reveal all the areas she was insecure about. No, that definitely wouldn't have worked. She would rather die than dress like a GaGa / As she formed an escape plan in her head, she cobbled together her few possessions and packed them into her tattered black bag. It wasn't much: Two black tops, a long skirt, a bit of makeup and some clean underwear. She thought of her trusty old tablet, still probably lying on the concrete of the GaGa school yard. Shattered. She sighed. emOh well. /emShe'd have to do without. br / Slipping the bag over her shoulder, she opened her door and peered out, preparing to creep out and steal across the flat to the door. The coast was clear. br / Silently (well, as silently as you can while wearing biker boots), Carrie slipped out of her dingy bedroom and tiptoed across the ugly, highly fashionable flat to the door, only stopping once she was there to have one final glance about her. This was it. She'd never come back here again. She expected to feel sad, knowing that she was about to leave the first sixteen years of her life behind her and never return, but instead she began feeling excited. Joyful, even. Yes, joy. She would never have to put up with her family's scolding ever again, never have to endure the crushing feeling of hurt she experienced every time she thought how much shame she caused to her otherwise perfect parents. She smiled, for the first time in a long time. She turned. A hand fell on her / 'Well, look who's home!' It was her mother. br / 'Hello mother,' Carrie spat, still facing the door. She was not going to give up / 'And where does Madam Handcuffs think she's going now, hm?'br / 'Why do you care?' Carrie mumbled. Her mother grabbed her baggy clothes and spun her round so that they were face to face, pulling her close and looking her right in the / 'Why do I care? emWhy /emdo I care?' She shrieked. She struck her daughter hard across the face. 'I emcare, /embecause you are emmy/em daughter, my daughter who got arrested today for assaulting a classmate. What the hell is wrong with you, huh? Why can't you just be a normal kid? Why do you have to be such a little freak?' Carrie was harbouring tears once again. This time she did not succumb to the urge to / 'Don't you think I ask myself that every day, mum?' Carrie whispered back weakly. Her mother's face fell to confusion and the iron grip on Carrie's clothing loosened. She took a step / 'Well?'br / 'Well what?'br / 'Aren't you going to do anything about it? You've just been arrested for heaven's sake!'br / 'Yes, I am,' answered Carrie. Her mother looked hopeful all of a sudden. br / 'Really?'br / 'Yes, I was going to go out and …'br / 'And what?'br / 'And apologise. To the girl. I found her address in the school's online directory. I thought it was better than sending her an email.'br / 'That's …' her mother looked bewildered. 'that's great! Honey, oh, I thought, well, I thought I'd never see the day!' Carrie began to push the door open / 'Yes, well, you know, prison … it changes people.'br / 'Well, I guess so! That's super! Oh, Carrie!' Her mother looked overjoyed. For a moment Carrie felt a little sorry for her. She was so hopeful, so happy at the thought that Carrie could actually cease to be a disgrace to the family. Then she remembered all the times her mother had sent her packing, ashamed to even look at her own daughter, refusing to accept that she was not the ideal happy-clappy GaGa chick that she should be. Her resolve / 'Yes, well, I should really get going …' Carrie said cautiously, stepping out of the / 'Wait a second …' emOh no. /emHer mother had caught on. The expression on Carrie's face had given it away. Her mother looked irate again, more so than before. She lunged for her daughter but Carrie was already off, bolting down the long, white corridor and crashing down the / 'Get back here! Get back here you little freak! You little disgrace! Alright then! Don't think I'll leave the door unlocked for you, you're finished here! Gone! We don't want you back!' They were words Carrie had heard before, but they had lost their sting now. She was free. Like her mother had just said, she was gone. Finished here. She smiled. Ran faster. br / She was free./p 


	5. Chapter 4 - Somebody to love?

4  
It took two days for Carrie to reach the outskirts of the city. She had no sense of direction – with all the technology around, there was no need for one in the year 2303 – but she had followed her instincts, running, climbing and dodging danger at every turn, and found herself at last drifting among the piles of rubbish that marked the border between the edge of the metropolis and the wasteland that lay beyond.  
 _What now?_ Carrie asked herself for the millionth time that hour. It was all well and good running away from her home and her life in GaGa land, but where could she go? There were no more small towns and villages, only the vast GaGa cities and the gigantic landfill sites that flooded around them like seas, and now Carrie was left wondering where on earth she could go without being found and arrested once again. The very thought of recapture made her feel sick. She bit her lip. There was no way she was going to let that happen.  
Carrie sighed and plonked herself down on a discarded sofa, her long skirt blooming out around her like a black flower. She looked at the ugly thing she was sitting on, a neon green monstrosity with shiny plastic upholstery that was still in impeccable condition. Carrie reasoned absentmindedly that it must have been thrown out here after becoming unfashionable. After all, she reasoned sardonically, yellow seemed to be the colour that was all the rage at the moment. She began picking at her fingernails.

 _Crack_.

A footstep. Someone was nearby. Carrie froze and gripped the cold seat ferociously tightly. She listened warily. _Crunch, crunch, crunch_. The noise grew louder. Someone walking over the discarded plastic bottles and rubbish. And they were singing too.  
'Don't wanna be an American idiot, dunna duh da, da da da, da da, DUN DUN!' It was a boy's voice, squeaky and pubescent. In one movement Carrie manoeuvred her light frame round so that she was safely underneath the sofa. He was getting nearer.  
'Billie Jean is not my lover! Mmmm, hm hm hm, I am the one, but the kid is not my son …' He continued, humming and screeching his way through bizarre lyrics and strangely captivating tunes. Carrie's heart began beating faster. She could now see his feet, encased in a pair of black leather boots not unlike her own. He was dancing as he walked, swinging his right arms in wild circles while his left remained still, his fingers poised as if they grasped something Carrie couldn't see. _What the hell is this joker on?_ Carrie thought to herself. She'd heard of drug deals taking place in the shadier corners of the school courtyards. Watched people. Listened. She'd never tried any herself, but she knew what they did to people who did, and that seemed the only explanation for why anyone else would have found themselves out here in the middle of nowhere, especially behaving in the way this boy was. _Either that or he's a runaway like me_ , thought Carrie. She ruled the thought out immediately. There was no one else like Carrie. She was alone. She knew that.  
At that moment, the boy's frenzy was mounting, his movements becoming more erratic and his song becoming more and more passionate. He began to remind Carrie of a crazed pup she had once seen in a GaGa pet shop, running madly round its enclosure and yipping wildly until it was taken away by a shop assistant. As puppy boy reached the climax of his musical soliloquy, he made a manic leap towards the top of a pile of precarious-looking plastics, crashing through them and landing in a breathless, dazed pile of teenage confusion. Carrie laughed aloud, a piggish snort erupting from her nose before her hand clapped over her mouth. She breathed in. His head snapped round. Eye contact.  
Neither teen spoke. The boy gaped at her, horror-stricken, which Carrie gazed at him wide-eyed with her hand still clamped firmly on her face. Seconds elapsed. They felt like hours.  
Eventually the boy shifted around to lie on his stomach, ducking his head to get a better view of the terrified, pale girl cowering under the couch.  
'Hi,' he eeked out, his voice cracking. His hand flew to his throat and his face coloured. Carrie almost snorted again. This guy was too goofy to be intimidating. Still, she didn't feel brave enough to speak. He ran his hand through his dark hair, dipping his chin slightly in embarrassment, and cleared his throat. 'W-who are you?' he pressed, crawling slightly closer. Carrie moved back. Her face hardened back into its old mask of defiance.  
'None of your bloody business' she spat fiercely. The boy recoiled as though an animal had just made a swipe for him. Carrie instantly felt sorry. But she didn't apologise. 'Who are you?' she asked, in a slightly less sharp tone.  
'I d-d-don't really know,' he returned, in a slightly philosophical tone, his gaze dropping. Suddenly he smiled and propped himself up on his elbows, puffing out his chest like a proud pigeon.  
'But my name is Galileo Figaro'. So this guy was a lunatic with a stutter _and_ a weird name. Carrie was starting to warm to him. She fought the feeling. Liking someone was a weakness, she'd learned that the hard way.  
'Where did you come up with that?' Carrie asked mockingly, avoiding eye contact with the stranger. He shifted uncomfortably.  
'I found it. In a dream. It's hard to explain.' There was an uncomfortable silence. The two avoided looking at each other, their gazes wondering instead over the piles of rubbish surrounding them both. A soft breeze ruffled the boy's top, a soft-looking mottled grey muscle tank that looked like it had been worn many times. Carrie shifted. She realised she was stuck. _Fuck!_ She thought, grimacing.  
'Do you uh, need h-help? Getting out from under that uh, c-couch?' He winced every time he stammered, as if and it pained him to trip over his words. Carrie's iron front softened a little.  
'Go on then,' she muttered. She inched forwards. He reached out and grasped her arms lightly, helping her to free herself from the tight spot she was crushed into. He pulled, and she wriggled free of her confinement.  
'Sheesh, how did you even get in there?' he remarked, grinning. Carrie didn't smile. 'I mean, it's uh, p-pretty tight in there. You m-must be very uh …' He trailed off. Carrie didn't offer to help relieve his awkwardness. He ran his hand through his hair again. It was shiny and slick, like he had rubbed something through it to get it to stick up in messy spikes over his scalp. Maybe he had, but Carrie wasn't about to ask about a stranger's hair.  
'So, what're you doing out here?' she demanded, her spine straightening.  
'I could ask you the s-same thing.'  
It was a fair point.  
'Well, it's none of your business then,' she returned sharply, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. She pretended to busy herself rooting through its contents.  
'Can I uh, h-hazard a guess?' he asked timidly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Another wind blew and she caught his scent in the breeze. The guy needed a shower. She nodded at him awkwardly, attempting to exude confidence. 'You ran away, because the GaGa girls h-hated you. And your parents didn't want you either. And you felt … afraid.' He looked scared and hopeful. Carrie's resolve to dislike him weakened.  
'I'm not scared of anything,' she returned, straightening again. 'But yeah, I ran away. Those GaGa creeps couldn't handle me, so I thought I'd help them out by leaving.' Another pause. 'You?'  
'The same. Stupid BoyZone clones.' A pause again. 'So, uh, do you want to like, uh …' he trailed off again.  
'What?'  
'I dunno.'  
'What?' She pressed, stepping closer.  
'W-well, I dunno.'  
'Brilliant.'  
'You're kind of mean, y'know?' he said, turning away. Carrie stepped after him. She caught her breath.  
'I don't really mean to be, I'm …' He turned around expectantly. 'I'm sorry, I guess. I'm used to people being mean back is all.' A goofy grin spread across his face. He really was like a puppy.  
'I get it, don't worry. It's not easy being different in GaGa land.' He turned as if to walk on, looking back at Carrie as if inviting her forwards with him. 'Walk with me?'  
'Kay.'

The pair walked on in silence. Carrie smiled gently. _I'm not alone,_ she thought, _I am not alone._


End file.
